


Fragile Things

by GayNidoKing



Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Established Relationship, Injury, Light Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayNidoKing/pseuds/GayNidoKing
Summary: Zevran is used to getting hurt, and is more than used to hurting others. What he's not used to, however, is watching the one he loves go down in battle. During a particularly nasty darkspawn ambush, Laz is overwhelmed and Zevran has to face some previously buried feelings.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Surana, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813810
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: ZevWarden Week 2020





	Fragile Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ZevWarden Week, Day 6: Bloodstained Clothes, Injury

“Darkspawn!”

Zevran’s body tensed in response to the call. It was habit now to immediately draw his blade and prepare for battle. That bastards didn’t wait long before springing their trap, and he didn’t have even a second to be surprised.

The instant Zevran’s hand found his blade, the ground beneath him began to tremble. He scrambled back, away from where Laz and Sten had forged ahead, and not a second too soon.

The way genlocks sprouted from the ground, they _had_ to have some form of magic. One moment he was walking the hard road, the next he was watching as the damned things literally clawed their way out of the earth like it was pudding. The nearest one bared its filthy teeth and snarled, and the one behind it let out a hideous howl that chilled his bones. He didn’t have time to take in any more details before it threw itself at him, brandishing rusty-looking daggers too big for its short arms.

Fighting darkspawn was a thoroughly unpleasant experience. None of his tricks worked on them, not intimidation or trickery or cleverness. To beat a darkspawn, you just had to hit it harder, and better. His training was still useful, but there was something deeply uncomfortable about looking into an opponent’s eyes and seeing nothing but murderous rage.

He immediately had to block a flurry of mindless hacking attacks, and actually had to step back several steps as more genlocks erupted from the ground. At least a dozen surrounded him, and he saw at least a dozen more behind them, rushing at Laz and Sten.

A few seconds later than usual, he felt the pull of Laz’s magic. He had learned quickly to give her a wide berth; her magic was powerful, but didn’t discriminate between friend and foe.

She called out to let him and Sten know when to move. Her spells slowed his opponents enough that it was easy to cut the most aggressive down.

Later, he would blame the armor.

Laz had provided them all with thick armor, and had strongly cautioned him against baring any of his skin while they traveled. He had disregarded her advice at first, but after watching her comfort the first (but not the last) person through the Taint, he independently decided that it was best to cover up. It made fighting a bit more difficult. He was used to lighter armor that let him move and fight nimbly, and the heavier layers required to protect him from darkspawn teeth made him feel slow and immobile.

Maybe that was why he was a second too late to respond to the scream.

It was a familiar voice, but an unfamiliar sound. He had never heard Laz sound so panicked. The scream was one he’d heard before, from different throats, and as he’d heard many times before, it was abruptly cut off by a sharp crack and a thud.

By the time he turned around, Laz was already on the ground. By the time he crossed the battlefield, cutting down every genlock that threw itself in front of him, her attacker had already landed one more blow.

With a scream he didn’t know he had the breath to make, Zevran plunged his dagger into the genlock’s throat, and yanked. He nearly took the thing’s head off. When he got close enough, he kicked it hard in its chest, sending it tumbling back into its fellows. The wretched things immediately scrambled to pick up their fallen ally’s weapons, and didn’t hesitate before redoubling their attacks.

He had neither the time nor the mental energy for dramatics. He immediately ducked beneath a wild swing and plunged his blade into a genlock’s stomach. The other hovered over Laz’s chest, ready to block any further attacks. Black blood sprayed over his abdomen and legs, and over her unconscious form.

It took every bit of strength he had not to look down. Zevran planted his feet by Laz’s shoulders, and defended her.

He looked around wildly. Sten was still up, but had moved to take care of the leader. He must have assumed Zevran was with her.

He didn’t have time to think about it. The darkspawn’s numbers were only marginally slimmed, and he was now immobile.

Sensing weakness, the darkspawn redoubled their efforts to bring Laz down. Did they know who she was? Could they sense her the same way she could sense them? He could think of no other reason for the ferocity with which they attempted to rip her away from him.

He was grateful to Laz’s nagging when one of them locked its mouth around his arm. When he ripped away from its grip, it was only a layer of leather taken away and not a layer of skin. He responded with a slash across its face, which pushed it back for only a moment before it screamed and threw itself at him again.

“Sten! Some assistance, if you please!”

With a roar, the giant seemed to shrug off the darkspawn attacking him, and charged towards Zevran with such ferocity and speed that it was a wonder he managed to stop before he bowled him over. Three genlocks fell with one swing of Sten’s sword, and Zevran found himself standing solely in the man’s hard gaze.

“What happened.”

Even above the rush of battle, Zevran could hear the anger in the qunari’s voice. Odd, the bond he had with Laz.

“She was overwhelmed. And there is that one.” Zevran pointed with a dagger to the darkspawn skirting the edge of the battle, weakly waving a gnarled root and casting spells on the battlefield. It was obviously either very new to its job, or very stupid, but even amateur magic could win or lose a battle.

Sten and Zevran didn't move from Laz's unconscious body. With no fear of having to dodge her magic, there was no need to scatter.

Zevran refused to look down, terrified of what he would see.

Finally, Sten charged forward and dispatched the final genlock. The second his blade touched flesh, Zevran's own hit the dirt. He spun on his heel and dropped to his knees and reached for Laz.

Her eyes were open and unfocused, and her breathing was too fast, too wheezing. Blood (both hers and the darkspawn's) coated her entire upper body, so thick he could barely make out the torn openings in her robes. The arm that had held her staff was bent and the fingers were twitching.

He grabbed her hand, for all the good it did. Her fingers were cold as ever, but they were trembling violently. She didn't respond to his touch, or to his worried whispers of her name.

Sten dropped to a heavy knee beside him. Without even touching him, the qunari shoved him out of the way with one look.

"We must return immediately." Sten didn't wait for a reply. In an instant, Laz was in his arms. He held her carefully but firmly, and didn't even wait for Zevran to respond before he set off in a brisk jog.

For a moment, Zevran just stared after him. His empty hands flexed once, twice, at his sides. He grabbed his daggers, took a deep breath, and took off after the giant.

He thanked his lucky stars they hadn’t traveled far from camp. It was only twenty minutes running back, but every one felt like an eternity. Sten outpaced him easily, and by the time he erupted panting into camp, everyone else had already gathered around Wynne’s tent.

They parted to let him pass, and Wynne’s protests died down when she saw him.

“I already said no...oh. It’s you.”

She eyed him distrustfully, even after all this time, but didn’t stop him from taking up at Laz’s side.

She was stripped to her smalls, and the sight of her made his blood go cold. The blood had been washed away. Her broken arm was wrapped tightly, a lightweight splint set against the bicep. There were a number of bruises across her upper body, including one shaped like a genlock’s boot on her stomach.

Her shoulder was split by a large gash that Wynne had already set to healing. It was just a scar now, raised and red but healing. She had another wound across her ribs, which Wynne was currently seeing to. Zevran looked away; the sight of flesh knitting itself back together was enough to turn even his stomach. He focused on her face and shoulder.

Laz’s dark skin was worryingly pale and grey, and for the first time he could see the tendrils of the Taint crawling up her arm. Like the fingers of some terrible beast, the purplish-black veins formed a spiderweb on her shoulder, throat, and chest. He had seen flesh rot, but it had never affected him like watching that poison creep across her body.

He knew she was immune, he knew it wouldn’t kill her but...the memory of her comforting those writhing civilians would be fresh in his mind for a while.

He sat down heavily on her other side. Wynne gave him a sharp look.

“Don’t touch anything,” she said. “This is a delicate process, and I need her body to be as still as possible.”

“I will keep my hands to myself,” he promised solemnly. The thought to make a quip didn’t even cross his mind.

She didn't object when he took Laz's uninjured hand, though. Laz didn't respond, deeply asleep or still unconscious. He sincerely hoped it was the former.

He stroked her knuckles slowly.

Now that they were out of battle, his heart was pounding painfully in his throat. The shaking of his hands could be hidden by how tightly he held hers. She would be fine, he knew, but a thousand scenarios went through his head. If she had been cut down before she could scream. If he responded just a second too late. If Sten hadn't come back and he was overwhelmed and…

"If you squeeze her hand any harder, you're going to break it."

Wynne's tone was disapproving, but she was looking at him with...pity. He didn’t like it.

He didn't reply, but he loosened his grip. Part of him wanted to make a joke, poke at Wynne to distract himself from the pit in his stomach, but his throat was closed.

How many marks--or lovers--had been bleeding at his feet? He'd never felt such terror, even now that the crisis was averted.

What if the damage was worse than he could see? What if the magic healed her wrong? What if--

"Her _hand_ , Zevran. It's made of flesh and bone, not steel." Wynne’s tone was getting less and less sympathetic the more she talked to him.

"Ha. My apologies." He put her hand down carefully, and squeezed his knee instead. It didn’t help as much.

She was going to be fine, he knew--Wynne wouldn’t let him in here otherwise--but his stomach was still in knots. The sight of her lying limp on the ground, that darkspawn’s blade coming down towards her...it was haunting. What would he do, if she left him? He was bound to her in oath and affection, and he had left everything he knew to throw himself at her mercy. What did he have, besides her?

What would he do with his nights, with his mornings? He had gotten used to her by his side, and more than that had come to _need_ it. He had told her many times he didn’t have any plans for his future, but he hadn’t realized how much he was clinging to the assumption that it would include her.

Wynne lifted her hands away from Laz's chest after a long period of silence, and held out her glowing hands to him.

"You are injured as well." 

"It's nothing serious," he objected.

Her stare was hard, and he leaned in to accept the magic.

He preferred to be unconscious while Wynne healed him, but this time he accepted the discomfort as a distraction.

His own wounds were superficial, and the only one Wynne actually healed was the concussion.

Her face was tired, but she managed a slight smile. “I apologize for being so short with you. I know you care for you a great deal.”

“No hard feelings,” he assured her.

“She’ll be fine,” she told him as she stepped back. She turned his head side to side, inspecting or admiring him. “She just needs to rest for now, and then when she wakes, she’ll need a large meal. Larger than normal, I mean, if that’s even possible.” The amusement in her voice was more reassuring than her words. She wouldn’t laugh if Laz was in any danger.

He forced out a chuckle. Laz and Alistair’s appetites were extraordinary, which he’d discovered was a Grey Warden perk. After every major injury, just one of them could eat through half the stored food in a single night.

“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” He didn’t have the energy to put the usual flirtatious lilt to his words. It sounded more like a promise.

“If you’re going to stay by her side,” she said, “I would prefer you get out of my tent.”

That was fair.

It was easy to move her. He let Wynne dress her, and gathered her up in his arms. The exertion exacerbated the ache in his bruised arms, but he pushed it aside. He didn’t falter or bat an eye as he carried her to her tent, the farthest out from the center. He assured the others that she would be fine, but insisted that she be left alone.

Laz was awake when he set her down in her bedroll, which they shared more often than not these days. She looked delirious, and her hand grasped at the open air for a few moments before finding his.

“That hurt.” Her voice was a bit hoarse, and he rushed to bring her some water. “Damned thing almost took my arm off.”

Her tone was light, but Zevran wasn’t feeling particularly jovial. He laced their fingers together and squeezed.

He wanted to scold her. He wanted to tell her that she could never do that again, that she should stay close to him, that she should call for help.

But her face...she looked so tired, and so young. She turned her face to him and tugged him closer, and his anger died in his throat. It wasn’t even aimed at her, not really. It wasn’t even aimed at the darkspawn, because what good would that do?

“Sorry.” She broke the silence carefully, gently. “I thought Sten was with me. I didn’t even think about it.”

“Mistakes happen,” he said, voice thick. “You must...be more careful.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed, letting the warmth of him seep into her skin.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath. “You know I am lost without you.”

She tried to sit up and he placed a firm hand on her chest.

“Absolutely not.”

She made a face. “I can’t hug you from down here,” she protested.

He lowered himself beside her and very carefully laid an arm across her stomach. She couldn’t embrace him, but squeezed his bicep comfortingly.

He didn’t have anything to say. All the anxiety and despair of the past half hour came crashing down all at once, and he just buried his face in her hair. It was wet and grimy, though Wynne had washed the worst of the blood out. She stayed quiet. He knew she struggled with this. He did too, honestly. She had never been needed, and he had never needed anyone so much.

“You know I’m lost without you,” he said again, quieter.

She sighed and squeezed him again. “I’m sorry.”

She turned her face into his, seeking a kiss. He willingly surrendered, as he always did. When he opened his eyes, she was still there, weak but alive. Her smile was forced and wavering, but it was lined with affection.

He laid his head down beside hers, and let himself rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a day late....


End file.
